Doublet shot
Snow swirled in large white butterflies. The driver kept stopping the "gazik" and brushing it off the windshield with his mitten. The lieutenant colonel sitting next to him glanced at his watch. There were a few minutes left until the New Year. "Head to the third entrance!" he ordered. The driver looked at his commander in surprise but, without asking unnecessary questions, turned the corner. The officer went up to the third floor and rang the bell. Behind the door, through the music and laughter, someone volunteered to open it.
"Well! Santa Claus himself has graced us," said the apartment owner, letting the guest in and brushing the snow off his greatcoat. "Lika! Your beloved has finally arrived. Come on, girl,"
greet your husband."Already gotten herself plastered!" the husband hissed angrily, looking at his rosy-cheeked, swaying wife.
"We were seeing off the Old Year, and you get a penalty," she hung on her husband's neck, spilling champagne from the glass that nearly fell from her unsteady hand.
In the room, besides the hosts, there was another young couple dancing by the Christmas tree. A table stood in front of the sofa, and Viktor's wife, a slender, blue-eyed blonde, was bustling over it.
"So, how are things at your place? Has your beloved personnel pulled another prank?" Viktor approached the guest, extending a sweaty hand.
"Good thing they left!" Lika declared triumphantly, "I hate it when someone tries to lecture you with their whole demeanor," she concluded and plopped into an armchair.
"Yeah. Her Fedya is a bit gloomy," Viktor agreed readily and casually slapped Konstantin on the shoulder. "Now, brother, as one of my billiard partners says, we can play four-handed." The guest smirked and looked hopefully at Vera. She turned away embarrassed, pretending something on the working TV screen had caught her interest. This didn't escape the half-drunk, casually sweeping glance of Lika. She stood up, picked up a champagne flute from the table, and loudly proclaimed:
"So let's drink to real men, who don't burn in fire and don't drown in water!" She downed the champagne in one gulp and, plopping onto the sofa, pressed her brightly painted lips against Viktor's slightly pursed lips.
"Lika. Did you get the wrong address?" he barely managed to say, tearing himself away from the prolonged kiss.
"The wife of Lieutenant Colonel Zverev is never wrong! Isn't that right, darling," she hugged her husband with her shapely arm.
"Darling. You are, as always, right," he replied, slowly freeing his neck from such a sudden and tight embrace. Glancing sideways at the spouses, Vera stood up and went to the kitchen. Bringing a bottle of vodka, Vera announced shyly:
"Boys. We're running low on 'fuel'. This is the last one..."
"That's easily fixed," replied Konstantin, taking the bottle from Vera's hands. "I'll bring some now..." When he touched her hand, it seemed to him that some invisible spark jumped between their touching fingers.
"Good job, daddy," Lika clapped her hands, "and so you're not bored, take Verochka with you. And you, Verun, check on my 'kittens' there."
... He carefully opened the door to his apartment so as not to wake the children. They were sleeping soundly in their cribs, languid from the stuffy air hanging in the room. Konstantin went to the kitchen, softly closing the refrigerator door. Vera stood by the window, scratching some patterns on the frozen glass with her nail. Her narrow hips were clearly visible through the thin white fabric of her skirt.
For some reason, she seemed to him like such a familiar, domestic woman, the kind he often dreamed of. He approached and hugged her shoulders. She turned and, placing a finger on his lips, slowly began to part them and immediately pressed her own lips to them in a long, sucking kiss. He felt her mouth, like a pump, sucking him out. From the trembling of her chest and her hips, pressed tightly against him as if glued, he understood that she passionately wanted more. Konstantin found the zipper on the back slit of her skirt, the pull tab slid down easily, the skirt fell to the floor. Vera kicked it aside with her foot, turned to the window, and leaned her elbows on the windowsill. "Damn! My favorite position," he caught himself thinking a thought that suddenly flashed in his mind, and began slowly pulling down her panties. He had never seen such mini-panties on a woman before.
These were brought, as they said here, from the "mainland," and even then by special order. This thin string between her buttocks, another one instead of a waistband, and a fig leaf over her beloved female spot could only with great stretch be called panties. It was the height of fashion. He had never seen such a thing on other coquettes in the garrison, not even on his super-fashionable wife. Taking off the panties, he brought them to his face, inhaling the pleasant scent of her body mixed with the smell of expensive Parisian perfume. She nervously twitched her pelvis, like a mare impatiently awaiting her favorite stallion. And then he pressed against her from behind, pushing her head and shoulders against the windowsill with his hands. She yielded to him in passionate languor and burning impatience, for it seemed to her that he was taking these precious seconds of sexual happiness unforgivably long.
Freeing his "soldier" from captivity and driving it into her so hard that she involuntarily let out a muffled cry was a matter of seconds. Vera felt something thick, long, and soft find itself in her womb, authoritatively taking her entire being into submission to this master. Strangely, she thought she wouldn't feel anything new in this, but when this giant piston began to work slowly in her body, gradually accelerating its pace, she realized she had never experienced such bliss before. At first, she wanted to move her rear in rhythm with him, but soon realized it wasn't necessary, as her partner was handling his duties well himself, and she only had to enjoy, constantly washing his "boy" with abundant tears of passion, sloshing somewhere down there...
Soon, she too began working passionately, selflessly, as if afraid she wouldn't manage to catch by the wings and hold onto this capricious and fleeting "bird" of sexual happiness until the end. Finally, he too couldn't withstand this sweet torment, and in response to her constant pleas of "More, more, darling," his "champion" shot such a stream that the raging "fire" in her body was instantly extinguished.
"Did you manage to finish?" he asked a naive question, barely catching his breath.
"Could anyone endure that for long?" she laughed.
"What did you feel during it?"
"Your finish," she snorted, wiping his combat organ with her panties.
"You are a sweet woman," he pulled her to him and kissed her firmly right on her soft lips.
Konstantin had long been eyeing this quiet, reserved woman, but he could never have guessed she would prove so skilled in this matter.
"I really enjoyed it with you too, not like with my self-confident goat," Vera replied, ruffling his forelock with her fingers. "I hope this isn't our last meeting," she pressed against him, fastening his fly.
"Me too... ," he replied, helping her tidy himself up.
Taking another look at the sleeping children and grabbing a bottle of spirits from the kitchen cabinet, they went outside. They walked along the only snow-covered road in the settlement. In front of the main entrance to her house, he made a snowball and rubbed it on her sunken cheeks, which immediately turned rosy. People were mostly asleep, but from some apartments, music and laughter could be heard, and somewhere up high, a rowdy "Kalinka" was being danced.
"And how are things with Lika in this regard?" she lightly touched his fly.
"Yeah, nothing!"
"How so?"
"She's just an Amoeba in this matter," he waved his hand dismissively.
"Listen. Let's scare them," Vera winked conspiratorially, slowly inserting the key into the keyhole.
They undressed in the hallway without turning on the light. Vera quietly opened the door and clicked the switch. And then he saw his wife. She was lying on her back on the sofa, legs spread, her head hanging limply, and between her legs, dark-haired buttocks were bouncing like lively balls, and a white "piston" was energetically pumping into this young but indifferent, beautiful body...
Eduard Zaitsev